Raul Malo has a voice that shouldn't exist in the same zip code as modern country radio. It’s a rich, operatic tenor that feels like it was stolen from a 1950s Havana nightclub and dropped into a Nashville recording studio. In 1994, that voice collided with a perfect set of songs, and The Mavericks What A Crying Shame album was born. It didn't just sell records. It changed the definition of what "country" could actually sound like.
People forget how weird the early 90s were for Nashville. Garth Brooks was smashing guitars, and Shania Twain was about to turn the genre into a pop spectacle. Then you had The Mavericks. They were a bunch of guys from Miami—a city not exactly known for its honky-tonks—led by a Cuban-American frontman. They weren't wearing starched Wranglers or singing about tractors. They were playing something that sounded like The Beatles had a baby with Roy Orbison and decided to raise it in a Tex-Mex restaurant. It was brilliant.
The Record That Almost Didn't Make Sense
When MCA Nashville released What a Crying Shame on February 1, 1994, nobody knew if it would stick. Their previous effort, From Hell to Paradise, was critically acclaimed but commercially quiet. It was too political, maybe too raw. Don Cook, the producer who helped steer the ship for this sophomore major-label outing, knew they needed hooks. He understood that Malo's voice was a Ferrari that needed a paved road to really show off.
The title track, "What a Crying Shame," starts with that unmistakable, bouncy guitar riff. It’s infectious. You can’t hear it without tapping your dashboard. It peaked at number 25 on the Billboard Hot Country Songs chart, but its impact felt much larger. It was the "cool" country song that people who hated country music were allowed to like.
Honestly, the album's success is a bit of a miracle. It went Platinum. Think about that. A band playing neo-traditionalist country with a heavy dose of ska, lounge, and Latin influence went Platinum in the middle of the "Hat Act" era. It stayed on the charts for well over a year.
Why Raul Malo’s Vocals Refined a Genre
You can’t talk about this record without obsessing over the vocals. Malo isn't just a singer; he’s a stylist. On tracks like "There Goes My Heart," he leans into that Orbison-esque vibrato that feels both fragile and indestructible. Most country singers of that era were trying to sound like George Jones. Malo was trying to sound like the entire history of melody.
The song "O What a Thrill" is a masterclass in restraint. It’s a Jesse Winchester cover, and Malo treats it with such reverence that it feels like a prayer. It’s the kind of song that makes you want to sit in a dark room with a glass of bourbon and just... feel things. It’s deeply uncool in its sincerity, which is exactly why it’s so cool.
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The Hidden Gems and The Cover Games
Most people bought the album for the hits, but the deep cuts are where the band’s identity really solidified. Take "All That Heaven Will Allow." It’s a Bruce Springsteen cover. Most Nashville bands wouldn't touch The Boss with a ten-foot pole in 1994, fearing they’d sound too "rock." The Mavericks didn't care. They turned it into a shuffling, mid-tempo groove that felt like it belonged in a jukebox in 1962.
Then there’s "Pretend." It’s pure 50s pop. It’s saccharine and lush. It shouldn't work on a country album, but because the musicianship is so tight—thanks to Ben Peeler’s lap steel and Robert Reynolds’ steady bass—it feels cohesive. The band was a unit. They played like they’d been gigging in sweaty Florida bars for a decade, because they had.
Breaking the Nashville Mold
The Mavericks weren't just "another band." They were an anomaly. In the mid-90s, Nashville was a factory. You had the session players (the "A-Team") who played on every single record, giving everything a polished, identical sheen. The Mavericks fought to keep their own sound.
What a Crying Shame sounds like a band playing in a room. There's air in the recording. There's space. When the horns kick in on certain tracks, they don't sound like MIDI triggers; they sound like brass and spit. That authenticity is why the album hasn't aged a day. If you played "I Should Have Been True" today, it would still sound like a timeless classic. It doesn't have the gated reverb or the thin drum sounds that date so many other records from 1994.
The Cultural Impact of a Cuban-American Frontman
We need to talk about the cultural shift here. Before The Mavericks, the idea of a Cuban-American leading a major country band was virtually non-existent. Malo didn't hide his heritage; he baked it into the arrangements. You hear it in the percussion. You hear it in the rhythmic swing of the guitars.
This paved the way for a more inclusive version of Americana. Without the success of What a Crying Shame, would we have seen the same explosion of "Alt-Country" later in the decade? Maybe. But The Mavericks proved that "country" was a big enough tent to hold more than just Appalachian folk influences. They brought the Caribbean and the Mediterranean to Tennessee.
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Why It Still Matters Today
Music critics often talk about "essential" albums, but the term is overused. However, if you are building a library of 90s music, this record is a load-bearing wall. It’s the bridge between the outlaw country of the 70s and the genre-blurring Americana of the 2020s.
It’s also a reminder that melody matters. In an era where production often masks a lack of songwriting, What a Crying Shame stands on its own merits. You could strip these songs down to an acoustic guitar and they would still be hauntingly beautiful.
- The Songwriting: Malo co-wrote seven of the tracks, proving he wasn't just a voice. He understood the architecture of a hit.
- The Production: Don Cook found the sweet spot between "radio-friendly" and "artistically honest."
- The Longevity: The band is still touring. They are still vibrant. And they still play these songs because the audience demands them.
Understanding the Tracklist Dynamics
The flow of the album is actually quite weird if you analyze it. It doesn't follow the standard "Fast, Fast, Slow, Fast" template. It meanders. It takes its time.
"The Things You Do to Me" is a jaunty, almost Buddy Holly-style track that cleanses the palate after the heavier emotional weight of the earlier songs. It’s short, punchy, and doesn't overstay its welcome. That’s the secret of this record: it’s incredibly economical. There’s no filler. At around 37 minutes, it’s a tight experience that leaves you wanting to hit "repeat" the moment the last note fades.
Common Misconceptions About The Record
A lot of people think this was their debut. It wasn't. This was their third album if you count their self-titled independent release. By the time they hit the studio for What a Crying Shame, they were seasoned pros. They knew exactly who they were.
Another myth is that they were "manufactured" by the label to be a crossover act. Anyone who has ever interviewed Raul Malo knows he isn't someone you "manufacture." He has a singular vision. If anything, the label spent most of their time trying to keep up with him.
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How to Experience the Album Today
If you’re coming to this record for the first time, don't just stream it on crappy phone speakers. This is hi-fi music. You need to hear the separation between the instruments. You need to hear the way Malo’s voice catches on the mic during the high notes in "I Should Have Been True."
- Listen for the snare sound: It’s crisp and woody, a hallmark of 90s Nashville production at its peak.
- Pay attention to the backing vocals: The harmonies are tight but not "robotic." They have a human wobble to them.
- Check out the 20th Anniversary editions: Some of the remastered versions bring out the low-end frequencies that were sometimes lost in early CD pressings.
The Mavericks created a world within this album. It’s a world of neon lights, heartbreak, late-night drives, and a strange kind of hope. It’s not just a country album. It’s a Great American Record.
Moving Forward with The Mavericks
If you've worn out your copy of What a Crying Shame, the next logical step isn't just to stay in the 90s. The band’s evolution is fascinating.
First, go listen to Trampoline (1998). It’s where they get really experimental. It’s got horns, big orchestral swells, and even more Latin flair. It’s the logical conclusion of the path they started on in '94.
Second, check out their 2020 album, En Español. It’s a full-circle moment for Malo, singing entirely in Spanish and embracing the boleros and mariachi music that influenced his childhood. It proves that the "Mavericks sound" was never about a specific language or genre—it was about a specific feeling.
Finally, see them live. Even decades later, the songs from What a Crying Shame are the centerpieces of their set. They play them with the same fire they had thirty years ago. There is no substitute for hearing that voice in a room full of people.
The legacy of The Mavericks What A Crying Shame album isn't just in the gold records on the wall. It’s in the fact that it still sounds fresh. It’s in the way it gave permission for country music to be sophisticated, worldly, and unapologetically soulful. Go back and listen to it again. You’ll hear something new every time.